


Wings

by KLambert98



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence, ineffable husbands, lowkey ptsd vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLambert98/pseuds/KLambert98
Summary: Crowley never liked talking about personal matters, especially when they were the sort of personal matters that haunt him and keep him awake at night.  Crowley also never planned on telling anyone of such matters, even Aziraphale, but that all changes one night after a few glasses of wine.





	Wings

It haunted him.

When it was late at night and much quieter than any night had a right to be, the memory, the pain, it would haunt Crowley. He could feel his skin ache as the memory flashed in his mind as if it had just occurred. There were times, even, that Crowley could swear he could still feel the heat of his body on his feathers or feel the breeze run through them, but it wasn’t real. His wings were gone.

No one knew, of course, as Crowley was Crowley which meant Crowley didn’t like to talk about things as personal as that. Not even to Aziraphale, the man he called his best friend for millennia and his boyfriend only recently. There were times when Crowley was tempted, but in each of those times, the words never came. How could they? One doesn’t just strike a conversation by starting with the words, “I lost my wings because someone cut them off.” It would make for dreadfully melancholy conversation after all. So Crowley kept it to himself as he kept many things that haunted him. It was simply easier to forget these things and for the most part, he could, especially while in the company of his favorite angel. It was only at night that he wished he had told him. And one day, he did.

Crowley hadn’t planned on telling Aziraphale, but wine will make you talk about more things than you ever planned on sharing, and demons were no exceptions to this. The two supernatural beings sat sprawled on the sofa and chair in the back of Aziraphale’s bookshop as was common for them. Crowley tilted his head back as he stared at the ceiling, one hand reaching up to grab something entirely invisible to the angel. 

The pair wasn’t the drunkest they’ve ever been, but they were certainly toeing the line between just below drunk and not having any filter whatsoever. Aziraphale chuckled as he watched the demon swat at whatever it is he was looking at before taking another sip of wine.

“Crowley, what on Earth are you reaching for?” The demon merely shrugged as he let his hand crash into his chest with a resounding thud. This earned him another chuckle from the angel.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice said, quieter than was usual for the demon, especially when he had alcohol in his system. 

“Yes?”

Crowley’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling for a moment. His mouth was moving quicker than his mind, but his mind determined that it didn’t particularly mind. The demon rolled his head to the side to stare at the other man across from him. Aziraphale’s shining eyes stared back at him, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I wanna tell you somethin’.” The angel’s brows furrowed at his words. 

“Should we sober up first?” He asked, setting down the wine glass to the table at his side. “’s seems like a sober conversation.” The demon shook his head.

“No. Don’t think I could tell ya sober.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered across Crowley’s face, searching for some hint as to what in the world Crowley could be so worried about saying that he couldn’t say without the wine.

Crowley sat up slowly in an almost dejected way. One might blame the alcohol for such strange movements, but the angel knew better. Crowley turned, his back facing his love as he slowly reached around and tugged the shirt off of his torso. and tossed it onto the floor. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, both in shock as well as pain. He could swear he felt a sharp pain in his own wings as he stared at the two large scars on Crowley’s back. The place where two glorious midnight wings should be were empty and surrounding them were bruises and scars that looked fresh and old all at the same time.

“Crowley…” The demon’s body shivered at Aziraphale’s soft voice. Crowley would never admit it, but as he stared at the wall in front of him, he could feel the warm wetness of tears rolling down his cheeks. When asked later, Crowley swore he never did such a thing and acted insulted that Aziraphale would even suggest such preposterous idea.

Crowley flinched as Aziraphale’s fingers gently traced along the rough scarred skin. The demon couldn’t move. It was as if all the strength the alcohol had given him had left and now he was stuck, scared, in this position. Crowley had suffered through many terrible things as was custom for demons and while some haunted him (haunted being too strong of a word if Crowley was honest), nothing topped this. Not even Falling. At least when he Fell, Crowley still had his wings, some reminder that he was still him, even if they had changed colors.

The demon felt a gentle kiss pressed against his back. Warm, familiar hands wove themselves around his waist, pulling the demon closer to his angel. “When?” Aziraphale asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s hold ever so slightly.

“A millennia ago, give or take.” They were both quiet, the sound of their heartbeats were almost audible in the silence.

“How?”

Crowley didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure if he could. The memories flashed in his mind, vivid, loud, and painful. The sound of his own silenced screams rang in his ears. “Got summoned,” he started, the vision of hooded figures filled his eyes. Candles surrounded him, and a sigil, one meant to both summon a demon as well as contain it drawn in paint beneath his feet. Crowley could hear their chanting, low and eerie, in his head. He could feel his body rise off the ground against his will as if he was being pulled up by invisible strings. He could feel his wings, his poor wings being pulled open, farther than any set of wings should ever be able to go. The wicked laughter of the humans below him rung through the room, taunting him, haunting him. Crowley watched as a pair separated from the group and took their places on either side of the demon. The humans raised their hands and in their grasp held a knife. Crowley couldn’t move, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t even scream. He was helpless to them.

The duo smiled at each other before plunging the knives into Crowley’s sides. His eyes pressed shut as he silently cried out from the pain. Normally, his body healed fairly quickly, but these knives were made differently. Crowley suspected holy water to be involved in the process somehow since the pain they brought was excruciating. Blood ran down his body, staining his clothes before slowly pooling on the ground. The duo took turns slicing his arms, his chest, his legs, in a seemingly haphazard manner. The rest of the humans took turns drinking from the blood. Whatever they thought that would achieve, Crowley wasn’t sure. Eventually, bowls were placed underneath his body as to help catch the red liquid that was quickly draining from his body. 

Eventually, after was felt like days, the humans removed the filled containers and Crowley’s body slowly fell back to the ground. He still couldn’t move, however, but the humans seemed nearly finished with him. He, of course, was wrong.

Through droopy eyes, Crowley looked up at who he guessed was the leader of his fiasco and hissed. It was all the strength the poor demon had left in him. Then he felt a sharp, searing pain shoot through him. If you could imagine the kind of pain that would occur if you were to slowly pull and rip apart your back, feeling each nerve and muscle rip and tear without being able to do anything about it and remain alive during this process and after, then you might be able to imagine a tenth of the pain Crowley was experiencing at that moment. 

The torturous pair sawed through bone and muscle and feather as they slowly worked their way through Crowley’s wings. Every inch of him felt as if it were on fire. Crowley would rather be doused in Holy Water a thousand times than suffer through this a moment longer. Not even demons, even the most rotten of them, were ever, ever, this cruel. The spell holding him prevented him from blacking out, which he was sure what would have happened otherwise. 

Thud.

A sudden weight had been released from Crowley’s form. From the corners of his eyes, the demon could just make out the limp form of his wings lying on the ground behind him. But the humans weren’t finished, oh no. They had merely cut off the wings off, but the bone and muscle and nerves that connected them as well as the now sad, boney stumps of remaining “wing” were still there and needed to be removed.

Crowley never did figure out why. He had murdered them all the moment he was freed from that circle. Crowley stood there, staring at the piles of bodies and blood-soaked floors in defeat. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the bloodied and torn wings behind him. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice filled the demon’s head, slowly pulling him out of his own mind. The angel’s hands cupped his face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that fell. When did he move onto Aziraphale’s lap, he wondered. “Crowley? Crowley, you’re scaring me. Talk to me, my dear, please.”

“Sorry,” Crowley spoke, his voice hoarse and weak. Aziraphale’s head collapsed and rested against Crowley’s forehead. “What… happened?” The angel lifted his head just enough to press a kiss against Crowley’s.

“You seemed to get a bit lost in your memories, my dear. Couldn’t get you to speak to me. It was as if you couldn’t even see me.” Aziraphale’s voice grew quieter. “I was scared, scared for you.”

Crowley shifted so he was able to rest his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel’s arms were still wrapped around him, holding him close to his chest in a way one might do with a toddler, but at this moment, Crowley didn’t care and would deny later, of course.

“You don’t have to tell me how. Just know that I love you.” Crowley nodded.

“I love you too, angel.”

The two stayed like that till dawn at which point, the alcohol had worn out of their systems and the fear and pain in Crowley’s mind found their way back to their usual hiding places. The two parted as the bookstore was about to open and Crowley claimed his plants needed watering. And when the day turned to night and the memories filled his mind again, Crowley simply picked up the phone and dialed the man whose voice alone was enough to make the dark a bit brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Genderfluid-God on Tumblr for coming up with this fic idea.


End file.
